


Dieu Et Mon Droit

by roryfreisthler



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, F/M, Gen, Other, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Pedophilia, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Imbalance, Voldemort Dies, Widowed, not quite dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-05-26 23:40:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15011948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roryfreisthler/pseuds/roryfreisthler
Summary: “The Dark Lord is dead. Vivian Slytherin is now our Lady.”On Halloween of 1981, Vivian Slytherin née Avery ascends to the role of reigning Dark Lady while the Wizarding World is celebrating the death of He Who Must Not Be Named under the impression that the Death Eaters are gone. Unbeknownst to them, the Death Eaters have a new leader - but it's an unsure one. How can Vivian Slytherin handle her new identity without cracking under the pressure? And what will happen when her abusive husband tries to come back?





	1. Prologue: Ascension

“The Dark Lord is dead. Vivian Slytherin is now our Lady.” 

The words, said by Bellatrix Lestrange with a pained expression at Slytherin Manor to a full assembly of Death Eaters while the rest of the Wizarding World celebrated the death of their Lord, echo through Vivian’s mind as she curls up under the blankets in what used to be her marital bed. She knows that many of the Death Eaters aren’t particularly happy with her ascendence - hell, she even knows that Bellatrix isn’t, seeing as she’d always hoped to be the Dark Lord’s consort. Yet, somehow, Magic has recognized her as the rightful Dark Lady. She knows it shouldn’t surprise her, but she never thought her Lord would  _ actually  _ die, leaving her as his successor.

_ “Are you happy, Vivian?”  _ She remembers his hands caressing her chin, as cold as ice. It feels oddly appropriate, considering that now his body lies dead in Godric’s Hollow. 

_ “Of course I am, My Lord,”  _ she had answered. As the words echo in her mind again, probing to find the answer of whether she’s happy that she has inherited this position, she doesn’t know if they’re actually Voldemort or merely a figment of her imagination. 

The question is tricky, because since his death, all of the enchantments he cast upon her to ensure she was his perfect puppet have lifted, leaving her with a clearer picture of the past five years but a much more painful one. Now she can remember her body twisting under the red sparks of his Cruciatus Curse, a semi-regular occurrence when he was unhappy with her behavior, and can remember the more unsavory aspects of their sex life. Her hand rests on her stomach as she wonders whether the heir that he intended to create earlier this evening will end up existing. If she ends up pregnant, she knows she won’t be able to bear getting rid of the child.  _ That  _ would undoubtedly shatter any faith that her new Death Eaters had in her if they found out, and even now that she sees with more clarity what happened between her and Voldemort, she can’t bear to hate him for it or consider it  _ wrong. _

“My Lady, do you need anything?” Ophelia Greengrass’s voice follows a soft knock on her bedroom door.

“A Calming Drought, please, Ophelia,” Vivian answers. At least she has a Healer she can trust. Ophelia has always been her closest confidant on the Dark Side. 

A few minutes later, Ophelia is back with a pre-brewed Calming Drought, and kneeling as she offers it to Vivian. Vivian takes it, and she watches Ophelia’s eyes as they are drawn towards the Mark on her arm, now in tones of silver that indicate her ascension from Death Eater to reigning Dark Lady. 

“What… did it feel like?” she asks.

“Wondrous,” Vivian says, stretching the truth. Of course, the moment that Magic decided she was the new Dark Lady was wonderful, but the mental pain that accompanied the transformation of her Dark Mark and the unraveling of the spells Voldemort had put on her were less so. 

Ophelia nods, smiling. “You are our only hope… our secret, my Lady. I am glad you are prepared to accept the position.” 

“Magic would not have chosen someone who was unprepared,” Vivian answers, although in her mind, she’s wondering what prepared is supposed to look like. Probably not a shattered woman who just realized that her amazing ex-husband was anything but. 


	2. Reaffirm

The silver Dark Mark on her arm  _ stings,  _ Vivian realises the instant she wakes up. It’s pulsing angrily at her like it’s throwing a tantrum, and she can’t tell what it’s trying to tell her. Images of various Death Eaters flash through her mind, but she’s not sure what it means. If it’s something left over from her ex-husband’s magic, it probably won’t want her to feel happy and secure, right? So she does her best to recall every detail of Ophelia Greengrass’s face into her mind’s eye, focusing as hard as she can on drawing that face to the forefront of her consciousness as opposed to the faces of her many other servants. And is the Mark  _ purring?  _ It actually seems happy, which is a shock to her. Maybe it reacting different ways to different Death Eaters is Magic’s way of guiding and preparing her for her role.

She summons into her mind the faces of Death Eaters she recognizes as close confidants of her ex-husband -  _ Carrow, Crabbe, Crouch, Dolohov, Lee, Jugson, Macnair, Mulciber, Nott, Rosier, Rowle, Selwyn, Snyde, Yaxley…  _ Unsurprisingly, her Mark reacts with a painful pulse when she summons the faces of most of them into her mind. So it seems like the Mark, and Magic, is trying to guide her. Noted.

She pulls herself out of bed and stares into the mirror. Obviously her tie to the disloyal Death Eaters is very unhappy with how they think of her. And no wonder they think of her in a way that Magic deems inappropriate - she was her husband’s little toy. She remembers  _ now  _ the choice that was offered to her upon joining the Inner Circle - become a sadistic and child raping patron of his “Institute”, or become  _ his  _ slut. Of course, he’d told her that she was special, because the alternative to the Institute for any other woman who made Inner Circle (like Bellatrix) was to be a toy for the Inner Circle  _ men.  _ And who wouldn’t want to be the favored little slut of a Dark Lord? It was practically what she had been raised for, after all.

As she looks at her Dark Mark, moving around and practically trying to cuddle her like a particularly affectionate snake, she realizes what she needs to do.

***

It feels so strange to sit  _ alone  _ on her ex-husband’s throne. Unsurprisingly, he’d never let her do that before. Of course, she’d been honored by him fucking her on it, something he’d frequently remind her that he would never do to any other Death Eater, and she’d sat on his lap at full meetings, but she’d never just sat on the chair. She’d never had her own throne.

The looks on the faces of some of her new Death Eaters betray their thoughts on this new development without her needing to perform Legilimency on them. They don’t think she’s fit for this position, even if Magic Herself has decreed that she is. 

“With the death of your Lord, you are now mine,” she says to the full assembly of Death Eaters. “What some of you, those who  _ I _ am not afraid to call former blood traitors, may not have realized when you swore loyalty to him, is that you did not swear loyalty to the  _ person.  _ You swore loyalty to the Champion of Magic, a position which I now hold as the widow of the Dark Lord and Magic’s most favored,” Vivian watches with no small amount of glee as the realization dawns on the faces of some of the more idiotic and bloodthirsty members of her forces. Many of the Death Eaters, despite being dedicated to the protection of pureblood society and dark magic such as blood magic, were unaware that Magic was as sentient as Vivian now knows She is as Her Champion. How could they not know until now, she wonders, as a flash of rage heats her body. They use magic every day, they consider themselves (rightfully) more important than Muggles and Squibs because they have it - did they just think that winning some sort of genetic lottery was  _ so  _ worth bragging about? No, Magic is alive and comes when She is needed by Her chosen.

She can feel the magical tie that binds even the most idiotic members of her forces to her. “But today, you will reaffirm that loyalty. Reaffirm it,  and be deemed worthy by me to do so, or you will die.”


	3. Blood of My Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for depictions/mentions of rape and CSA.

“Cousin,” she says, staring down her cousin Abel, who she has chosen to be the first one to reaffirm his loyalty. She had never liked him, and she can tell from the way her Mark is prickling when she looks at him. 

“My Lady,” he responds in kind, and she can see an intensity in his eyes that she doesn’t appreciate. He’s always wanted her in ways totally normal for cousins of Sacred Twenty-Eight families, but in ways she didn’t want herself. And he wants her even more now that she has power. 

But this time, she has the power to say no.

“Blood of my blood…” That phrasing is traditional for all sorts of rituals done with people who you know you are related to, and although she hates that she  _ is  _ related to Abel, she knows it will make the ritual stronger. “Do you swear to acknowledge and respect me as your Dark Lady and the Champion of Magic, to respect and follow the Blessed Lady and the culture of wizarding traditionalists, and to serve me in perpetuity and with the honor befitting a member of our shared bloodline?”

Ophelia Greengrass holds out a dagger to Abel, and he takes it with shaky hands and slices his palm.

“I do, my Lady,” he answers.

Vivian immediately feels a rush of magic, specifically a significant amount of their family magic swearing allegiance to her, and she can tell that even if Abel has harmed her in the past, he truly  _ wants  _ to serve her now. She can also tell that he does not want to serve her in entirely appropriate ways. This doesn’t matter. The corner of her lips twitch up in a smirk as she wonders how many other Death Eaters will have similar desires.

“Thank you, my servant. You may now take your place as one of the first newly sworn members of the Dark Order,” she says, and gestures to the other side of the room, which is empty so far except for the chair that Ophelia had been sitting on. Abel nods in satisfaction, and walks to the other side of the room.

“Who’s next?” she asks, giving a benevolent smile tinged with her sadism to the rest of the room. 

***

Many more vows pass without much incident, and thankfully the men swearing loyalty to her know how to keep from being  _ too  _ obvious about how much they want to serve her. Eventually, the rush of Death Eaters coming forward to swear loyalty slows down, and her eyes scan the room looking for the one woman whose loyalties are truly in question.

“Lestrange, come with me. The rest of you, behave.”

Bellatrix Lestrange’s eyes go wide, and she bows her head slightly as she follows Vivian.

“Where are we going, my Lady?” she eventually asks, as Vivian leads her through the winding corridors of Slytherin Manor. Truthfully, she’s taking a weird path to freak out Bellatrix, but Bellatrix doesn’t need to know that.

“My chambers,” she answers.

“Y-your bedchamber?” Bellatrix asks, and it is then that she notices that the witch’s hands are trembling.

“Perhaps. I’m the one who’s asking the questions tonight,” Vivian answers. She wants to intimidate Bellatrix, but something is twisting in her stomach. She doesn’t want to take Bellatrix to the bedchamber she used to share with her ex-husband.

So she veers sharply to the right, and eventually they find themselves in a different suite, the one that her cousins from the Land of the Blessed sometimes stayed in. She pulls Bellatrix towards her by the collar of her dress, and Bellatrix gasps.

“Blood of my blood,” she says, looking her up and down. It’s true - Bellatrix is her second cousin through the House of Black. 

“Yes, my Lady,” Bellatrix says, and up close Vivian can see that she’s trembling.

She repeats the same question she asked Abel.

“I… I do, my Lady, but I’m not sure you will want me,”

“That’s nonsense,” she hisses, and throws Bellatrix down on a chair. She sits on the edge of the bed. “ _ Legilimens.” _

Bellatrix makes no effort to shield her mind, letting Vivian see exactly what she is worried that she will not like. Maybe it’s a final act of bravery, or of defiance. She hisses when she sees it. Bellatrix, much younger than the witch she sees in front of her, being repeatedly slammed into by her ex-husband,  _ on the throne.  _ She can’t be more than sixteen years old, and she’s tearing up. The scene shifts, and Vivian sees more similar memories… Bellatrix learning what her ex-husband liked, and pleasing him, and being his favored Death Eater until Vivian came into the Dark Order. She also sees more shadowy memories of Bellatrix’s father taking her body similarly to the way her ex-husband had, when she was even younger.

She feels a stirring in her mind, a pressure that’s impossible to resist, and in a blur and hardly conscious of her own actions, she shoves Bellatrix onto the bed and tears off the witch’s clothes. Her body feels foreign and more like something that belongs to her than something that  _ is  _ her body, and there’s a desperate hunger inside her that she doesn’t understand. She looks into Bellatrix’s terrified eyes, and the voice that comes out isn’t her own.

_ “Did you really think she’d treat you better than I did, Bella dear?”  _ It’s harsh, and hissing - and her ex-husband’s.

She shakes her head, forcing it out.  _ NO. I am the Champion of Magic. You are nothing but a pathetic rapist who didn’t know what he had.  _ Her words are harsh, and accompanied with some sort of blast of magic inside her head that she doesn’t understand, it’s gone. She collapses on the bed next to Bellatrix, who looks at her in shock.

“My Lady?”

“He’s gone, Bellatrix,” she says, compulsively adjusting the torn sides of Bella’s dress. “You’re safe.”


	4. You Look Like You Need a Healer

Bellatrix has a haunted look in her eyes as she exits the room, and Vivian can tell that she believes what Vivian said about her ex-husband being gone as much as she does. She should chase after her, swear her to secrecy, threaten her if she should reveal anything about their interaction - but she can’t make herself to. She feels exhausted from what she fought off, and she can still feel  _ his  _ presence in her mind, like he’s entwined into her soul. 

She just lies there for a few minutes, trying to fathom what even  _ happened.  _ She’s heard of possession before, but she mostly just thought it was some bogeyman, not an actual possibility. The farthest she’d heard of a witch’s mind and body being controlled by someone else was the Imperius Curse, and other similar mind arts. 

Then she hears a soft knock on the door, and bolts up. “Hello?”

“Hello, my Lady. It’s Ophelia Greengrass,” 

“You may enter,” Vivian responds, arranging the bed so it  _ doesn’t  _ look like sex - or rape - had just occurred on it, and sitting up.

Ophelia enters the room, and stands awaiting instruction, which thoroughly confuses Vivian. “Why are you here?” she asks.

“My Lady, Madame Lestrange informed me you might be in need of a Healer,” Ophelia answers.

“She did  _ what? _ ” hisses Vivian. “How  _ publicly? _ ” It would just be like the Bellatrix she had known to try to disgrace her after her ascension by claiming that she needed to get help. But maybe it wouldn’t be like the terrified, almost younger looking woman who she’d seen a few minutes prior.

“She… did not give me details,” Ophelia says, not meeting Vivian’s eyes. “She simply said that you might require my assistance. Referring to you as the Dark Lady, of course. So I came as fast as I could. Do you require my assistance?”

Vivian sighs, supposing that’s a reasonable action for Bellatrix to have taken. “Do you have the stomach for it?” she asks, almost laughing.

“Milady, I am a Healer. I would like to think that I have the stomach for quite a lot of things,” Ophelia answers. 

“Have any of the members of the Inner Circle ever spoken with you about their elevation, or the requirements for them to continue their membership, in your position as a Healer?” she asks, knowing the answer will be no.

“I… milady, to do so would have been heresy of the highest degree, and for me to keep that they had told me secret from your late husband would have certainly resulted in my death if he had found out. No, none of them have,” Ophelia answers.

“The Institute,” Vivian says in a quiet voice, then looks more directly at Ophelia. “Does it ring a bell?”

Ophelia’s face is as white as a sheet, and her hands are trembling. “I… I do not believe I am allowed to talk about that place even if it does, my Lady,” she answers.

Anger flashes through Vivian. “I am the  _ Champion of Magic.  _ You are allowed to answer anything I ask you, and tell me anything. In fact, if I ask you something, you are more than allowed to answer me - you are  _ required  _ to,” she hisses.

Ophelia trembles, and as she nods, Vivian feels upset at herself for having exploded at her like that. She’s always needed to control her emotions better than she does, and today is a clear example. Thankfully, however, it doesn’t seem that anything has seriously gone wrong because of her outburst. Which was all accurate, just… stated rather forcefully. 

“Honestly, my Lady, I don’t remember much about it. Just that it was a place for teaching little girls to be good…. and that after threatening to send me there if I didn’t behave for a while, I was sent there by my father Horacio for a few weeks the summer I turned nine,” Ophelia answers. 

Vivian’s hand, which was grasping the bed covering, pulls tighter, and her knuckles turn white. She knew of the abstract horror of the Institute and she knew what sort of things the patrons did to the children there, but to see that someone sitting right in front of her was forced to attend for a period of a few weeks… she can only hope that it was less intense around fifteen years ago.

“Do you know about this place, my Lady, or are you trying to find information out from me? Because if you deem it necessary, I can ask my father for more information about it?” Ophelia’s voice turns up at the end of the sentence, and Vivian can tell that she is terrified. 

“You will do no such a thing, Ophelia. I am perfectly capable of Legilimency, and I can find out more information about the Institute from its patrons within the Inner Circle.” She stops holding her fist so tightly, and breathes out a little. “And then I can destroy it.”

Ophelia looks shocked, but quickly composes herself. “Of course, my Lady, I did not mean to insinuate anything about your capabilities. When you say patrons…?”

“All of the men, Ophelia. Regularly. Some sort of test to prove how cruel they could be, how  _ blindly  _ they would follow orders. And I daresay many of them enjoy it. Perhaps most. Us ladies were given a similar choice, with the alternative of being the toys ourselves if we refused,” Vivian states.

To Ophelia’s credit, she doesn’t faint or betray much emotion at all. “I’m so sorry you went through such a choice, my Lady,” She doesn’t look like she would judge either choice. 

“Don’t give me sympathy. I don’t need it. I need to destroy the Institute,” Vivian hisses.

Ophelia nods tersely. “Of course. I will gladly assist you in any way necessary.”


	5. The Institute

Vivian isn’t sure if she’s being as stupid as a Gryffindor or just not anxious because she’s the new Champion of Magic as she assembles the remainder of her late husband’s inner circle at a meeting the next day. Thirteen incredibly powerful wizards and witches (mostly wizards, to be honest) were assembled in front of her, and she was about to deny them one of their favorite vices, in fact, actively ask them to help destroy it, and she  _ isn’t scared. _

Maybe she isn’t scared because nothing on Earth could be scarier than her ex-husband, and he’d been destroyed. Well, mostly. 

Of course, the Inner Circle roster doesn’t quite match up with the Death Eaters her late husband had favored the most, she thinks, a little bitter. Despite being in the Inner Circle, Rodolphus Lestrange had not been particularly favored - quite possibly  _ because  _ of whose husband he was. Lucius Malfoy also had not been, and certainly Isobel Zabini had not been - the only female Inner Circle Death Eater who hadn’t been claimed by another man. Having darker skin than even Vivian did couldn’t have helped either. It wasn’t like her husband had been known for appreciating wizarding racial equality, even though he theoretically thought wizards were better than Muggles.

They had all played a key role in the success of the wizarding war. Bellatrix, obviously, was famed for her ability to torture, a skill shared by the Carrows. Miles Jugson had been the lead developer of new dark curses for the Death Eaters. Isobel Zabini was a skilled Potioneer. Dolohov and Rosier were particularly ruthless, not just in their curses. Rodolphus Lestrange was the head of the Mind Arts recovery branch of St. Mungo’s, thankfully unbeknownst to the wizarding hospital in question. Macnair had famed knowledge of wizarding beasts - and how to either recruit or dispose of them. Thorfinn Rowle had knowledge on a large variety of runic languages. And Nott and Malfoy? Well… they had money. 

“Lestrange, Jugson, Carrow… other Carrow… Zabini, Dolohov, Rosier, Lestrange, Nott, Crouch, Rowle, Malfoy… you are all here today because when you joined the Inner Circle, you were given a choice. Or in the case of the less fair sex among you, had already made it,” Vivian states. Several of the men startle, perhaps unaware that the Dark Lady had known of such unsavory things. Isobel Zabini looks particularly anxious, which confirms Vivian’s theory that she’d taken the antagonistic role offered to her as opposed to being given to the men of the Inner Circle. “In penance for your sins,” she continues, “you will help me destroy the Institute.” 

The members of her late husband’s Inner Circle all look rather surprised by her statement, but thankfully, none of them objected. Using her strange new skill of reading the allegiances of her Death Eaters through their Marks, she scanned the room for anyone who was disagreeing with her decision but not saying anything about it. Unsurprisingly, Dolohov, the Carrows, and Rosier were unhappy. She wasn’t able to read their exact thoughts, but she could tell that they were  _ pissed.  _ The rest of the Death Eaters were various shades of relieved (Bellatrix, Jugson), guilty (Isobel, Nott and Rodolphus) and apathetic (Rowle, Macnair and Malfoy). 

At least that meant nearly half of her  _ dearly departed  _ husband’s former servants were unhappy with what had happened at the Institute. Wow, what a pathetic number. Somehow, though, she wasn’t surprised that seven of the individuals she’d shared Inner Circle duties with had no shred of a conscience. 

“My Lady, what would you like us to do in order to destroy it?” came Bellatrix’s voice. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ve all murdered before,” she said. “And I’m not  _ just  _ talking about the employees and patrons.”

A stunned expression dawned on the face of Isobel Zabini. “Do you mean, my Lady, that you want us to kill the caregivers of those who sent their children there, as well?”  
“At least the fathers,” Vivian shrugged. “You all have a decent grasp of Legilimency - you’ll be able to see if they were coerced into doing so, and if their wives agreed with their decisions. And, to be honest? It’s not like most of these children are pure-bloods. They’re mostly half-bloods, frequently children of Mudbloods, with social-climbing and money-grubbing parents who will do anything to be favored by the upper echelon of society. You can think of extermination of the parents of these children as yet another part of our effort to create a purer society,” 

“And what of the children? What are we expected to do with them?” asked Lucius Malfoy.

“Call me by my title when you address me, you cretin,” hissed Vivian, firing a quick cutting curse at Lucius. 

Somewhat to her surprise, Lucius took both the pain and the order to heart. “I’m most sorry, my Lady,” he said, and bent before her to kiss the bottom of her robes, as was custom.

“The children… well, I wouldn’t be surprised if most of them still have mothers. As for those who don’t… many of you have relatives who are good with children and could use another, or are having problems making one. After all, it’s not like we’ll turn them over to the Ministry, not with what they know about  _ some of you.”  _ Vivian narrowed her eyes at the Carrows. 

“You mean that they will be raised as pure-bloods, my Lady?” Rodolphus Lestrange asked.

“I’m sure you’re all aware from the blood status of my dearly departed husband that it is not parentage that makes one a valued and contributing member of pureblood society, but choices and attitude,” It pained Vivian to paint her ex-husband as an example of a “good half-blood”, but it was still a point that needed to be made, and judging by the expressions on several members of the Inner Circle’s faces, a fact that had not yet been revealed. “They will indeed be raised as pure-bloods, although in the case of adoption, also blood-adopted and glamoured so that they don’t look like the dear children who perished in the fire,” The fire… she was very much looking forward to that. 

“Any more questions?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at the assembled Inner Circle.

There were none. 


End file.
